Family Growth
by Ivanolix
Summary: Aragorn discovers that teenage daughters can make family life very interesting.
1. Thirteen

_Author's Introduction:This first chapter of this fic was written for RS, who requested a story about Aragorn dealing with his daughters when they were teenagers, but I was inspired to write more. It is mentioned in the Appendices that Aragorn had daughters, but it does not say how many. In my imaginings, there are four, and you will meet them all in this fic. Each chapter is 500 words, and shows one of the daughters in their teenage years. This first chapter is for Idriel, born in Fourth Age 17._

**Fourth Age 30**

Aragorn looked smilingly at his family as they ate. Arwen had not only given him beautiful children, but they were so easy-tempered as well. Perhaps Silmarien had a bit of attitude at times, but not much, especially for a child of seven. Then there had been that trouble with Eldarion—but he was a boy, and boys were different. Besides, that was all over, and the family was back to its amiable self.

And then—oh dear. Aragorn realized that he should have remembered not to think such things, for they attracted bad luck. "Is something wrong, Idriel?" he asked tentatively. 

The unexplainable scowl on his eldest daughter's face did not move. "Nothing," she said.

Aragorn frowned. "Are you sure? You appear out of sorts to my eyes."

"I'm fine," she said, but as if through clenched teeth.

Aragorn looked to Arwen with question in his eyes, and noticed that her soup spoon had halted halfway between bowl and mouth. His eyebrow rose as he saw that she had just realized something, but what it could be he knew not.

"Idriel," she said calmly, "will you not tell your father what is wrong?"

"Oh, just that he never lets me do anything," said Idriel, crossing her arms but attempting a light tone.

"What does that mean?" asked Aragorn, bewilderment clear in his voice.

"You wouldn't let me go to the academy, would you?" she accused.

Aragorn looked to Arwen. "What?"

"She wants to be an intelligence officer in the Citadel," explained Arwen calmly. "I _did_ discuss this with you, but did not use her name, so it is no wonder that you do not remember."

"Exactly," said Idriel.

"Intelligence officer!" exclaimed Aragorn. "Of course not! You are only thirteen, Idriel, and royalty would never be accepted by the academy."

"You could change the law," said Idriel, "but you wouldn't, because you hate me."

"I do not hate you," said Aragorn, his ire rising at such an accusation.

"Yes, you do!" she cried, tears flying from her eyes. "You don't want me to do anything I want, but just to grow up and marry some stuck-up prince!" She stood up and pushed her chair back to the table with such force that her glass spilled. With a sob, she then gave him a hurt look before dashing off.

As her wild sobs faded away, Arwen rose calmly. "I will be back soon," she said.

"What is all this about?" demanded Aragorn, the confusion becoming too much for this King.

"She is thirteen, my love," said Arwen, and then departed the way Idriel had gone.

As this was clearly supposed to convey everything he needed to know, Aragorn pondered her words. Suddenly it came to him that the age was the problem, and he then realized why Faramir had spent so much time in Minas Tirith the year before, the year that happened to be when his younger daughter turned thirteen. _Dear Valar_, thought Aragorn._ I have three more daughters after Idriel!_


	2. Fourteen

_This chapter is for Miriel, born in Fourth Age 21._

**Fourth Age 35**

Aragorn's long legs bore him quickly across the nursery floor, and he bent low with a mutter. "There you are, rascally thing!" The offending kerchief made no defense, and as Aragorn took this to be proper submission, he gave it merely a brush-off before placing it in his sleeve. Turning on one foot, he changed direction, intending to leave the way he had come. But a pair of grey eyes met his from the closet, and he stopped. The Elven light that was in Arwen's eyes had always fascinated him, and he found its half presence in his children even more endearing.

"Ancalime?" he inquired of the eyes. "Are you hiding?"

"Shh, Ada!" she said, and scooted out just a little so that he might see the finger that she put to her lips.

"Oh, of course," he said, lowering his tone and coming nearer. "Is it an orc, or a troll this time?"

Ancalime quickly pulled on her father's tunic, bringing his seven foot height down to a more managable level for the seven-year-old child. "No, Ada," she said seriously, bobbing her head for emphasis. "Much, much worse."

"You must make me aware of this new terror," said Aragorn, sliding back into the dark safety of the closet with her. "And I shall go to terminate it."

"I don't think Mama would like that," said Ancalime, her little mouth twisting as she thought.

"What are you hiding from?" asked Aragorn curiously.

"Miriel," sighed Ancalime.

Kingly eyes widened at the naming of his second daughter, and he answered: "Miriel? What crimes has she commited?"

"She is scary today," explained Ancalime. "She said that she wishes she were not a princess, and that she had no brothers or sisters at all. But yesterday she played tea party with us and fixed my Teleri dress."

"Oh dear," said Aragorn, shaking his head. Mood changes and emotional distress: he remembered this. "Do you know why she does this?"

"Yes," answered Ancalime, nodding confidently. "She is going crazy."

Aragorn swallowed. "Not quite."

"Then why, Ada?"

Putting his arm around her shoulder, Aragorn leaned in to convey his secret knowledge in an appropriately whispery tone. "You are almost right, Cali. When girls are a certain age, an age which Miriel has now reached, they seem to go crazy. They act strangely and you cannot tell what they will do next. But if you are patient, they grow up to be like Idi. Do you remember when Idi was Miriel's age?"

"I was two, Ada," reminded Ancalime.

"She was just like Miriel," assured Aragorn, "but, you see, no longer."

"You are sure Miri is not possessed by an evil spirit?" asked Ancalime.

"Good grief, yes!" answered Aragorn. "Who tells you such things?"

"Nobody, Ada," giggled Ancalime. "Shh! She's coming!"

And as Miriel walked through the nursery, tears on her fair cheeks and tales of personal trials falling from her lips for anyone to hear who minded, Aragorn and his youngest remained perfectly still and in hiding.


	3. Fifteen

_This chapter is for Silmarien, born in Fourth Age 23._

**Fourth Age 38**

"Ada?" Aragorn paused to see Silmarien's golden head peeping around her doormantle. "Ada, could you help me get ready for the party? Nana has left me, and I cannot do it all myself."

Aragorn paused. "What exactly do you expect me to do?" he asked hesitantly.

"Just button my dress and hold my hairpins for me," she answered with a dazzlingly persuasive smile. "Please, Ada?"

"I can do that," he said with an answering grin, and followed her as she walked dancingly back into her room. At fifteen, she was grown tall and womanly indeed, and her dark rose dress complimented her fine figure as well as her beautiful face. As Aragorn dealt with the small buttons, frowning just a little at how difficult it was with his large fingers rough from long years of fighting, Silmarien posed and smiled into her mirror, practicing her prettiest smile.

As soon as Aragorn was done, she handed him a small pile of golden pins and began brushing her golden curls atop her head. Aragorn smiled at her reflection in the mirror, the lovely image of the only child of his to receive the warm golden hair of her grandmother, as well as the brilliant beauty of her mother.

"What will you wish for when you blow out your candle this New Year?" he asked.

"To be lovely and admired," she answered, reaching up for him to give her a pin.

Aragorn paused a little. "Is that all? It is tradition to wish for the fulfillment of your one greatest goal."

"Silly Ada," she responded with a bubbly and almost irritating giggle, reaching to take another pin from his hand. "That _is_ my greatest goal!"

"That is all you wish for from life?" he asked, his brow wrinkling in the middle. After two other daughters, Aragorn would have imagined that he knew what to expect from these years between childhood and womanhood, but this daughter of his threw his expectations to the wind.

"What else is there?" she asked with a little shrug of her delicate shoulders. "And besides," she added, turning around and tipping her face to one side, "is it not a realistic goal?"

"Well—yes," answered Aragorn, awkward but honest.

"Then why not?" she asked, putting a couple more pins to hold her hair in place. She posed again in the mirror with a pursing of her rosy lips, then frowned a little and loosed a couple curls to hang at one side of her face. Smiling in full satisfaction, she pinned them delicately in place, and then blew a kiss at her reflection.

"I am ready now, Ada," she said, smiling brightly.

Aragorn sighed a little, but said nothing at that time. He offered her his arm, ignoring her excited giggle, and father and daughter descended gracefully to the New Year's celebration together. _Let her have her airy dream for now_, he thought. _Reality with all its weight will catch up faster than either of us would wish it._

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_A/N: I will be gone for the next five days, but will post more and reply to reviews as soon as I return. Thank you for your support!  
_


	4. Sixteen

_This chapter is for Ancalime, born in Fourth Age 28._

**Fourth Age 44**

Ancalime adjusted her hood a little and shifted the weight of her backpack . She looked around once more, making sure the guards were out of sight, and stepped forward to make her escape from the White City.

"Going on a nice trip?"

Ancalime whirled around and stared into the night. "Ada?"

The dark figure that manifested from the shadows was too tall to be anyone but one person—her father. "Running away from home?"

But she was not going to back down just because she was caught. "I'm going to the Shire," she said firmly. "I'm tired of this city and its society, and I want to be a hobbit."

Aragorn gave a little grunt—he was apparently somewhat surprised by this decision. "A hobbit?"

"Yes," said Ancalime. "You always said my brown curls looked like a hobbit's, and I am not the tallest in our family; I think I would fit in quite well."

"My dear," said Aragorn, putting a hand on her shoulder. "No matter how you would fit in; how do you intend on journeying the one thousand miles between Minas Tirith and Hobbiton?" There was no answer. "Walking the entire way?"

Ancalime was grateful for the night, so that he could not see her blush. "I'll get there," she said confidently.

Aragorn laughed. "I think not." He took her arm, and began leading her up the road.

"Why can't I go live in the Shire?" she demanded, but did not dare to break free from him.

"Because you are too young to travel alone, and will probably outgrow this desire soon," he answered smoothly.

"I would not!" she said, incensed. "I mean what I say!"

"I doubt it not," he said in an amusement-laden tone. "That is just what Miriel said when she declared her desire to spend the rest of her life working in a charity house sewing blankets for orphans, and she fully meant it as well."

Ancalime opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it. Miriel's grand idealistic dreams had diminished after a few years to the more realistic plan of marrying one of the grand-nephews of Imrahil and supervising Dol Amroth charity houses on the side.

"But I do wish I could live in the Shire, and I will not ever stop wishing that!" she said stoutly.

"Do not we all?" said Aragorn with a sigh. "But life often leads us in different directions than that which we plan. And besides," he said, putting an arm around her and giving a squeeze, "I would not wish you so far from me."

She could not help but warm a little to him. "If I can't go to the Shire, may I go live with Lord Legolas in Ithilien like Idriel did? I do so hate all the stone here!"

"That is certainly a possibility," answered Aragorn. "As long as you do not try to run away, we will see."

Ancalime sighed, but after all, one thousand miles _would_ be a long journey.

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_A/N: An epilogue will be up soon. _


	5. Epilogue

Arwen nodded to herself, approving the last preparation. The night was growing older and it was time for slumber. "Where is Elessar?" she murmured. He had been staring at Idriel's baby portrait much of the evening, yet she saw their chamber door open as she ascended the stairs. But he was neither asleep nor pondering, but sitting in his chair with a weariness on his face that she had not seen since the dark years. 

"What is it, my love?" asked Arwen, concern showing in her whole attitude as she hastened to his side. He did not even look at her, but kept his eyes on the flames, with light both reflecting and shining in them. Arwen brushed her fingers through his hair, and knelt by his side. "My love, you cannot hide from me. The days of Ranger loneliness have passed away."

"I have to give her up," whispered Aragorn.

"She has been betrothed for a year," said Arwen with a smile. "You are not so oblivious as to not notice."

"No, you do not understand," said Aragorn, shaking his head and rubbing his brow with rough fingertips. Arwen gently took his hand and laid it in his lap, and she began to gently massage his forehead.

"Arwen," he said, "I cannot be responsible anymore. Idriel has already looked at me with eyes that show her desire for independence; and I know in my heart that I cannot hold onto her. I—I am giving up my responsibility." He breathed out, a shaky half-laugh. "I have never done so before."

He brought up his hands to gently take hers, and he kissed them softly. "It will not help, Arwen. It is not headache but heartache."

"Responsibility has been yours to deal with before," said Arwen. "Why is this different?"

"But I have never given it up," he answered. "I delegate to Faramir, to Elladan, but they still report to me. My mother dwelt under Elrond's guard, but she was always my care, just as Frodo was though I could not be with him on the Quest. Even Eowyn—I knew her so shortly, and yet I worried over her all through my journey to Minas Tirith. How can I actually forego my responsibility for Idriel, give her entirely into the care of another man?"

He laughed bitterly. "Full well do I now understand your father, and how thoughtless I was when taking you from him. Full well am I repaid for my selfishness."

"Do not worry, Elessar," said Arwen with a slow smile. "She is not going away forever. You will learn, as all fathers have learned."

He smiled a little. "Yes, I think I must."

"You need not give up everything," reminded Arwen.

"Of course not," said Aragorn. "She will always be my little daughter, I know. And I am happy—she is happy. I will not be too selfish."

"But I must learn quickly," he added with a wry smile. "I have three more daughters after Idriel."

The End

_Author's Notes: I hope you enjoyed this. In my imaginings, Aragorn makes Elladan the Steward of Arnor._


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